


I'm Genim. What’s your name?

by SarahAimee



Series: Tumblr Fic Prompts [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, BAMF Erica, College Student Stiles, It's mostly plot, M/M, Phone Sex, Porn With Plot, Smut, Stackson - Freeform, i suck at writing it, ok, phone sex worker Stiles, there's only a little bit of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-21
Updated: 2015-04-21
Packaged: 2018-03-25 03:09:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3794437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarahAimee/pseuds/SarahAimee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson calls a phone sex number to talk to a guy because he's questioning his sexuality. </p><p>Stiles is a college student who got a job as a phone sex operator as a joke, but now does it to pay his way through law school. What happens when one night he gets a call from one of his classmates?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Genim. What’s your name?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tryslora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/gifts).



> Based on the Tumblr prompt: 'Stackson AU where Jackson and Stiles have never spoken before. Stiles works as a phone sex operator and Jackson calls in and then keeps calling because he likes Stiles' voice and damn he knows exactly what to say to get him off and this goes on for weeks and finally Jackson hears Stiles answer a question in class and is like 'shit' and chaos ensues'

**Jackson**

He had no idea why he was doing this. He was Jackson fucking _Whittemore_ , for God’s sake. He didn't need a phone sex operator to get off, he could walk down the street and get any girl he wanted.

That was the problem, though. He could get any _girl_ he wanted, but recently that wasn't the attention he’d found himself craving.

All through high school, Jackson had been dating the queen bee, Lydia Martin. She was everything his parents expected of him, they made perfect sense on paper. Come graduation, though, she went off to MIT and he to Harvard to study law. His best friend, Danny, had also gone to MIT so he was all alone at Harvard.

Sure, he had followers. People _flocked_ to him when they found out his last name. He came from a legacy family, after all. But he didn't have _friends_ at Harvard, didn't have anyone to confide in.

At first, he had thought he was just missing his best friend, just lonely for company, but soon he began to realise that it was more than that. He realised that he had _feelings,_ and they were aimed at _Danny._ Similar feelings to those he used to feel for Lydia.

He realised he _liked_ Danny. Danny, the attractive, strong jawed best friend who put up with all of his egotistical shit through high school, whose boyfriends used to always irritate him to no end. He thought it was because Danny always got so caught up in them that he ignored Jackson, but looking back on it Jackson realised it was because Danny wasn't looking at _him_ that way.

Ugh! Why was he even thinking about this? Jackson looked down at the card in his hand. Breathing deeply before dialing the number.  
“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He muttered to himself, before typing the number into his phone and pressing call. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

The phone connected and a deep voice came over the line. “Well hello there honey, you've reached Sugar.” Before the man on the other end of the line could say another word, he snapped his phone shut and threw it away from him.

“Nope. Not happening. I’m not doing it.”

 

* * *

 

Two days later, Jackson still couldn't get the idea out of his mind. He needed to figure out if he liked dudes or not, and he so was not going to try his theory out on someone who knew him. He’d called Danny that morning, but had lost his nerve before he was able to bring the subject up. No, the only way to figure this out was to call a sex line and figure out if a due could get him off.

He had stared at that card for so long over the last few days that he didn't even need to look at it to remember the number. He dialed the number and lifted his phone to his ear.

*ring* *ring*

“Thank-you for calling 976-LUST, I’m Genim. What’s your name?”

“Jack-uh, John. It’s John.” He had no idea why he chose a fake name, but he thought it had something to do with it making this whole insane situation seem less real, somehow.

“Sure thing, John. That’s a sexy name you've got. I’m having such naughty thought right now, John. Do you want me to tell me all about them?”

Oh god, that voice. It was just the right mix of husky and awkward, and for some reason it was doing _things_ to him _down there._ This guy had barely even said a word, but Jackson already had an image in his mind of what he would look like. “Yes, please yes.”

“Right now I’m thinking about all the naughty things I’d be doing to you if I were there.” The voice said through the phone. “First, I’d slam you up against the wall and fuck your mouth with my tongue. I’d kiss you so hard, your lips will be swollen for days afterward.”

“Uh huh, and then what?” Jackson asked, slightly breathless as images sprung to mind. He was glad he had the house to himself as he slipped him hand inside his boxers to touch himself, already half hard from just the thought of what this stranger could be doing to him right now.

“I’d run my hands down your sexy body, until they were resting at your waist. Slipping my thumbs just under the elastic of your boxers. Are you imagining my hands there babe, can you feel how they’re slowly slipping inside to grab your long, pulsing dick?”

He started to stroke himself as the man on the phone continued to describe, in vivid detail, exactly what he would he doing to Jackson if he were there in person. Jackson came embarrassingly fast with a loud groan. He hadn't come that fast since the first time Lydia had gone down on him in freshman year.

“Oh god.” He mumbled.             

“Oh God is right baby.” The voice on the phone said. “You are a naughty boy. Listening to you was so hot just now, I had to take care of myself as well.”

That brought a whole fresh set of imagery to mind, and Jackson couldn't believe that he was feeling himself get hard again at the thought of being able to get a _phone sex worker_ hot and flustered. But hey, Jackson was _everyone’s_ type.

 

* * *

 

It had been three weeks since that phone call, and Jackson could admit that he had a problem. It was a good thing he paid for his phone bills out of his inheritance money, because he did not want his parents to see how much money he had spent talking to that damn sex worker.

It had gotten to the point where he couldn't get himself off without that guy’s voice in his head, egging him on.

But this? This was impossible. He was dozing off in his ‘Constitutional Law’ class when he was jolted out of his slumber by that damned voice.

“Nooo. Not here, not now!” he mumbled, sitting up straight to catch sight of the person who was speaking. Surely if he were to put a face and name to the voice, he could shake out of his daydreams and stop imagining that the person had Genim’s husky, sex laden voice.

The voice came from a student he had never spoken to before. Sure, he’d seen the boy around campus, but he’d never paid him any attention. The kid could barely walk five feet without tripping over his own feet. They simply didn't run in the same circles. So why the hell was he imagining the sexy guy’s voice upon him?

“Very good, Genim.” The professor responded to whatever the guy had just been saying and Jackson chocked on his own spit a little.

“Dude,” he whispered, leaning over to the guy next to him, “What did he just call that kid?”  
“Genim.” The guy said with a snort, “I know, right? What a weird name!”  
“Yea, totally weird.” Jackson replied.

Holy shit. Holly shit, shit, shit, shitballs. Sexy phone worker guy was in his Constitutional Law class. Jackson was never going to be able to answer a question in this class, he was going to have to not get called on. Ever. What if the guy recognized his voice? What If he _told people?_

“Mr. Whittemore, is everything ok?” The teacher asked him. Oh shit! This was not what he meant by not getting called on. He hadn't realised that he was having a visible panic attack in class!

Grunting out what he hoped sounded like an affirmative answer, Jackson grabbed his bag from his feet and ran out of the class.

* * *

 

**Stiles**

He’d started this job as a joke. Isaac had told him that he had a voice that dripped like sex, but a body that would turn away a sex addict. Erica had defended him, saying that he wasn't bad in bed, thank you very much! He wasn't sure exactly what happened next, but all of a sudden Erica had gotten him a job interview at her work and he was a phone sex worker.

For some reason, her manager agreed with Isaac that he had the right voice for it and he’d gone to a training course the next weekend. Usually he got cougars or girls who sounded too young to be calling the hotline, and he had to remind himself that he was paying his way through law school in order to keep going through the phone call. Occasionally he was lucky, and he hooked someone who kept calling for him. Those were the real money makers. For some reason, they found his awkward babble sexy so they stayed on the line for longer, which made him more in commission. He didn't mind if it was a boy or a girl calling, he was good at picking up subtle hints in their voices and tailoring his speech to their likes. He even had a book on his regulars, with what they did and didn't like – not that he would ever _ever_ show anyone. That would just be plain weird.

He had been working the job for about seven months now when he got the call. “Thank-you for calling 976-LUST, I’m Genim. What’s your name?” he started with his usual spiel. 

“Jack-uh, John. It’s John.” A male voice sounded down the line. The guy sounded like he was nervous, and was that a British accent? Man, if there was one thing that actually got Stiles excited, it was British accents. Maybe he might have some fun with this one, too. “Sure thing, John. That’s a sexy name you've got. I’m having such naughty thought right now, John. Do you want me to tell me all about them?” he asked the guy.

There was a long pause, Stiles was about to take the phone away from his ear to check that the connection hadn't dropped out when he heard a husky “Yes, please yes” come through the line. Ha! This guy was already primed and ready, time for the money maker.

“Right now I’m thinking about all the naughty things I’d be doing to you if I were there.” He started, “first, I’d slam you up against the wall and fuck your mouth with my tongue. I’d kiss you so hard, your lips will be swollen for days afterward.”

“Uh huh, and then what? The slightly breathless voice replied.

Stiles could hear the tell-tale sound of fabric rustling down the line.  “I’d run my hands down your sexy body, until they were resting at your waist. Slipping my thumbs just under the elastic of your boxers. Are you imagining my hands there babe, can you feel how they’re slowly slipping inside to grab your long, pulsing dick?” He could hear the guy jerking himself off down the other end of the line. Damn him, he made some really sexy whines as he was bringing himself close. Stiles continued to say filthy things, realizing that this guy liked it when he talked dirty, liked the thought of being controlled in the bedroom. He came with a loud grunt and Stiles was definitely saving those sounds into his spank bank for later. 

“Oh god.” The guy mumbled. Oh crap, he was embarrassed. Definitely a first timer. If Stiles was hoping to turn this into a repeat customer, he had to make sure that the guy ended the phone call on a high note.  

“Oh God is right baby.” He said in his sexiest voice. “You are a naughty boy. Listening to you was so hot just now, I had to take care of myself as well.” He lied. But really, once he was off the phone, he was so taking care of his growing problem _down there_. So it wasn't that much of a lie. Besides, the guy would never know. And if it helped his confidence? Well, hopefully he’d call again.

Stiles replayed the conversation in his mind after he’d hung up, using those sounds to help him come to his own release. He really hoped that ‘John’ would call again.

 

* * *

 

It was two days later when Stiles heard a sound that both horrified and amused him. British ‘John’ was in his Criminal procedure class. He turned around to put a face to the name and almost laughed out loud. ‘John’ was actually playboy extraordinaire Jackson Whittemore, he was sure of it. Oh wow.

 

* * *

 

He wasn't going to do anything with his new-found information, he really wasn't. It was unprofessional, and he could lose his job over it. But then Jackson kept calling back and requesting him. He had almost slipped up and called him by his real name the other day, and he was finding it harder and harder to not introduce himself to the guy after all of their late afternoon phone conversations. He decided that it was worth the ridicule he would receive, and he knocked on Erica’s door.

“Erica, you in there?” he called out. He knew she was, her shift was starting in half an hour. It was why he had chosen to come across campus to her room to see her at this time – he knew that if she was going to make fun of the situation, it wouldn't last too long.

“Stiles? Is that you?” she called out, before opening her door. She was standing there in her ‘work uniform’, as she called it. Flannel pajamas, with her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head. O, if only those guys knew what they were really calling. “Is everything ok? She asked as she stepped aside to let him into her room.

“Sort of. I was just wondering … have you ever had someone call that you knew in real life?” He started, as he sat next to her on her bed. “Like, hypothetically, a hottie from one of your law classes?”

“Oh my God, Stiles, is one of the girls from your law class calling you on your work number?” She asked, looking concerned more than amused.  
“No, it’s, uh, _hypothetically of course_ , but hypothetically, it might be one of the guys?” he said, looking her straight in the eye, “one of the popular ones, and he keeps calling. I don’t think he’s ‘out’ or whatever, but what if he recognises my voice? Do you think I should say something? Oh God, what if we get put in a group project together, or something?”

“Stiles, relax!” Erica called, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug to alleviate his panic. “It’s fine. If he’s – hypothetically, of course – a popular closeted guy, then the worst he’s going to do is stop calling you. It’ll all be ok. Just keep going like you don’t know who it is, and if he figures it out then we’ll cross that hurdle then. Ok?” 

“Ok.” He replied, snuggling into the hug, before he was abruptly shoved away from her and off her bed.  
“Now get the hell out of my room. My shift starts in 10 and I don’t like an audience.”  
“Yes ma’am” Stiles replied with a shit-eating grin on his face, “have a fun night.” He heard her pillow hit the door with a dull thud as he slammed it closed behind him.

Smile on his face, he made his way back across campus to get ready for his own shift. It was going to be ok.

 

* * *

 

It was not ok. Jackson knew who he was, he was sure of it.

He’d been working a late night/early morning shift last night, and hadn't gone to sleep yet. He’d finished his last call at 7am and rushed to get himself ready in time for his 9am lecture.

His mind was still in work mode, so he didn't even notice that when the teacher called on him his voice was slightly huskier than usual.

“Very good, Genim.” The professor praised him on his answer. He managed to only wince a little bit at his real name being used. No matter how many times he asked the guy, he wouldn't call him ‘Stiles’. 

“Mr. Whittemore, is everything ok?” The professor asked, and Stiles whipped his head around to see Jackson staring at him in horror, having a mini panic attack.

Shit. Shit on a cake and serve it up for Christmas pudding. This was bad. This was so many levels of bad that he couldn't even name them.

Jackson grunted at the teacher before fleeing the classroom, and if Stiles hadn't been certain it was him before then that grunt confirmed it. Jackson had a very distinctive grunt. Crap, what the hell did he do now? Throwing a meaningful look at Erica which he didn't think she understood, he grabbed his notebook and rushed out after the British boy, ignoring his teacher calling after him.

 

* * *

 

**Jackson**

He was almost at the end of the corridor before he realised that someone was following him.

“I’m fine!” he snapped, before turning around to face whichever of his frat brothers it was that had followed him out. But it wasn't a frat brother. It was Genim ‘Stiles’ Stilinski.

“What do you want, _Genim_?” he asked with a sneer, “come to rub it in my face? To blackmail me? It’s not going to work! You can’t prove anything!”

Stiles surged forward and grabbed Jackson by the shoulder, forcing him into an empty classroom to their left. “I’m not going to tell anyone if you won’t” he said, so quietly that Jackson almost missed it.

“You – what?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I should have said something as soon as I figured out who you were, but I could lose my job, Jackson! We’re not supposed to interact with _clients_ outside of phone calls. It’s bad for business. Please, just don’t tell anyone about my job. I promise you that I’m not going to ‘out’ you or anything, ok?”

“Out me?” Jackson hissed, “I’m not _gay_ , Stilinski. Don’t think anything of our conversations. You’re really descriptive and I was really horny. Don’t worry, it won’t be happening again.” He was hurt at Stiles’ multiple reminders that he was just a client. He probably had multiple people calling his number regularly, there was nothing special about Jackson. But he wouldn't show it. He couldn't show weakness in front of _anybody_ , least of all a _sex phone_ worker.

“Fine. I’m glad we've come to an agreement.” Stiles said before abruptly turning and walking out of the classroom, leaving Jackson alone to his thoughts.

What the hell was happening with his life?  

* * *

 

**Stiles**

He walked out of the classroom and kept going. He made it all the way to his room before he realised where he was. Opening the door, he was happy to see that the room was blessedly empty.

“That went better than expected.” He said to himself as he flopped down on his bed. He realised that this meant no more conversations with the sexy British-accent guy, but maybe this was a good thing. Stiles had been starting to actually care for ‘John’, even though he knew that ‘Jackson’ wouldn't look at him twice. He hadn't said anything because he hadn't wanted to shatter the illusion, he wanted to keep pretending that there was something there.

Well, he thought, Jackson made it pretty clear that I was the equivalent of the scum between his toes today. He rolled over and smushed his face into his pillow with a groan.

What the hell was happening with his life?


End file.
